


toxic waste

by bloodrunsred



Series: just a little bit broken [9]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Altered Mental States, Autistic Morty Smith, Bottom Morty Smith, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Episode: s03e06 Rest and Ricklaxation, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Incest, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, References to Depression, Sad, Sad Ending, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Unhealthy Relationships, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-18 17:51:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18254864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodrunsred/pseuds/bloodrunsred
Summary: Rick muttered under his breath, threats and compliments slurring together, a beautiful mess that only Morty was privy to. In the comfort of his own bedroom, in the dark, sobbing and shaking, he let Rick have him like he let him find him again.





	toxic waste

**Author's Note:**

> okay, quite a bit of self-reflection here. is this my best work? no. is it my most emotional work? i think so.
> 
> it's been almost a month guys, and it's been a stressful month at that. my mental health, while always rather poor, has completely deserted me recently, which is where Toxic Morty and Healthy Morty were born from. some people who have been diagnosed with illnesses like mine might understand, but i tend to be torn between intense apathy and an obsession with perfection in every form (healthy morty), and severe depression, anxiety and paranoia (toxic morty).
> 
> but sometimes im both fighting each other - normal morty.
> 
> these characters hit very close to home, especially this month where i have gone from doctor to doctor, to hospitals and counselors. i am still coping with pressure from all of my engagements, writing being one! i am hoping to improve slightly, and do my best to deliver you guys satisfying stories. i apologise if this falls short of expectatons, but it has some meaning to me.
> 
> i love you all!

Morty wasn’t stupid.

He wasn't very smart, sure. And maybe he wasn't even average, but at least he wasn't a complete lost cause - if he were, Rick probably would have dumped him off-planet the minute he met him. Morty couldn't blame him - there were a lot of things he didn't know.

But he knew what toxic meant; dirty, poisonous, disgusting, dangerous. Destructive.

It meant wrong, and that's probably why he felt so _right_ leaving that chamber. He was the calmest he had ever been in a long time, at ease around Rick for the first time in a long time. He was warm and tingly, with confidence and a sense of honest calm and he liked it. Rick was even better - he was smiling, apologetic, amicable where he would have snapped and almost pleasant.

He thought it might have messed with his mind a little, because for the first time in a long time - maybe even ever - he wasn't afraid. He wasn't afraid of the aliens with big, pointy teeth, he wasn't afraid of dying, he wasn't afraid of people judging him, he wasn't afraid of _Rick_.

As a teenager, it was thrilling. As a Morty, it was almost unfathomable. But he still didn't feel out of depth, not like he normally did when something changed unexpectedly, or something new happened. He glanced at Rick as they walked to the exit, and found that Rick wasn't looking back. Something burned in his chest for a moment, just a sharp pang of _this isn't right_ that was easily pushed away.

The ride home was perfect. They talked, fluidly and politely; the kind of interaction that Morty, with his anxiety riddled mind, could normally never quite seem to grasp. It was something he had never thought possible with Rick, especially - Rick, who thrived on arguments and high emotions, Rick who got under people's skin for fun. Morty couldn't lie and say he didn't enjoy it.

But there was something hollow to it - something that set it apart from the other, fewer times, he was truly happy or content. He wasn't sure what it reminded him of, but it struck a chord of familiarity. He followed the chord as it winded around mental corridors, twisting and turning until he hit a blank wall. He pressed against it, expecting to find something, feel something, but there wasn't anything.

Only a deep ache in his chest that grew with intensity until he finally let up, an unameable emotion that battered against his insides.

He ignored it - it wasn't hard. As soon as he left the wall alone, forcing himself into the present, it deserted him, leaving him with the same hollow happiness as before. He smiled absently at Rick as he nodded along to the music, humming a little tune off-key.

He rubbed at his chest, and the emptiness was abated.

There was something missing. Behind the wall, behind the emptiness, there was apart of him that wasn't there anymore. He couldn't remember, which was probably something to be concerned about. His memories were clouded over, a thick fog shielding his emotions as though they didn't exist. The peaceful silence turned stagnant and stale, the music serving as the only barrier between them.

Going home was - was more difficult.

There was a feeling of disgust that flitted through his mind when he saw his mother grab another bottle of wine, a sense of annoyance that plagued him when his dad started another argument. Feelings that he could have sworn hadn't been there before.

They were toxic and, for the first time he could remember, Morty  _wasn't._

 

* * *

 

Morty didn't know where he was.

He didn't know what he had done, what Rick had done, to get them in this world of hazy greens and browns, but he wanted out. He twisted his fingers, blunt nails pressing sharply into skin that was too malleable to be healthy - _holy shit was he dying was he dead was he being punished_ \- feeling like he had downed five energy drinks before jumping out of a plane.

Rick wasn't being helpful at all - he muttered under his breath, sending Morty sharp glares whenever he opened his mouth, or fidgeted too much, or breathed too heavily. He wasn't doing anything right, and his breaths were coming too quickly, and, and, and-

"Shut up!" Rick rounded on him again, eyes spitting fire even as his mouth twisted to an ugly scowl, hand trembling until Morty thought he might actually hit him. He cowered, instinctively. Hoping, praying, that looking as small, and stupid, and weak, and Morty as possible would help him avoid bearing the brunt of Rick's anger.

He managed to squeak out an apology in between quick gasps for air, but Rick wasn't appeased.

"I'm sorry!" Morty said again, "I-I'm so stupid, a-and weak, and useless, and I'm so-orry!"

Rick liked it when people did things for him, even putting themselves down just so he didn’t have to. It didn’t stop him from doing it himself as well, but it did something and that was better than nothing.

Morty’s number one mission in this strange new world was to please Rick. Rick was smart, Rick knew how to avoid danger, Rick put up with him even though he was worthless and Rick could do so much better but he didn’t. Morty was grateful, and he tried to show that on his face even though he was sure fear was contorting his features into something unrecognisable.

He braced himself for a few cruel jabs, a taunt or two that would have him cringing in on himself and wondering why he was still alive at all. Rick looked like he was about to say something, brow furrowing and wrinkles deepening before he was thankfully distracted by a deep groan from something nearby.

Morty flinched again, his brain finding a new monster in the groan that echoed in the stale air, the vibrations of the swampy floor under his feet.

He hated this place, and he hated himself, and he was scared, and he just wanted to go  _home._

Rick ushered him into a cave, eyes alight in a way that terrified Morty more than any monster. He let it happen, though; he let Rick push him and fold him, and manhandle him into a space he decided was safe. Morty rubbed his am, the unnatural warmth of his own flesh only shocking him for a moment.

He saw the moment Rick's brain switched from harsh to  _something else_ that Morty could only identify through memory alone. He fought the scream that was bubbling in the back of his throat when Rick moved to press his own hand over Morty's arm, rubbing gently at the skin there like he wasn't the one to bruise it. Rick pressed his forehead against his, knees bent, spine curved. 

"I'm sorry I s-scared you, baby," Morty choked on a sob at his words, "I-I'll make it - make it up to you."

Morty didn't want him to, but he was so small, and stupid, and dumb, and such a fucking idiot that he couldn't make Rick stop.

He cried instead.

 

* * *

 

Morty was on top of the world.

School was a breeze; friendships came easy, and class took less effort. He was helping people, really and truly, and the disgust that had clawed at his skin because of how dirty everything was eventually became a tickle at his brain. 

Going home still hurt him, though. It was overwhelming, the change of pace, the wrongness that overtook him just by stepping through the door. So, he went out more with Rick. Or Jessica, or Brad, or any of the other kids that needed him like he didn't think anyone ever had before. It was nice, to be needed. In a world - in a  _universe_ where nothing really mattered, he was desperate to make his mark.

He was one of the only two really clean, healthy people on the Earth, and he would have to use that. 

For better or worse.

Though Rick acted like it was worse. He was still healthy, moreso than an other person Morty knew, but he seemed more hesitant. More reluctant to do whatever he wanted, which was the exact opposite of Morty. It might have caused conflict if they were still toxic, but they weren't, so all it did was add a layer to the list of things they never talked about.

He left school slowly, pacing himself and nodding, waving, smiling at his classmates who looked at him like he _mattered_ to them. And he did, because he had helped them, helped them change their lives. He helped them become healthier, and that made him healthy. They told him things, did things because he said they could. He was almost like a  _Rick_ to them, except he was smarter.

He didn't show all his cards, and he could be anyone he wanted to be.

Well, Rick before detoxifying. After the machine, he had been  _different._ Morty changed for the better, but Rick stopped working on his inventions. He stopped protesting the Galactic Federation, he stopped doing everything that had made him Rick. Morty could understand that it was better for him, maybe. But Healthy Morty liked power, and Rick was giving up his.

Why?

He pushed the uneasiness away. He was getting a lot of practice with that lately.

He turned around when someone cleared their throat.

"Morty?" Jessica tucked her hair behind her ear, fluttering her eyelashes. Morty smiled; before he would have blushed, or scrambled to get closer, but he was healthy now. Pining wasn't very healthy. "Word around the school is that you've become suuuper healthy. Or something."

Morty fed her a line or three, mind drifting off into space. He missed it. Rick hadn't taken him to see anything recently. They went to get ice-cream, or played board games - normal family stuff, but it wasn't as peaceful as looking up at stars and feeling free from everything life on Earth represented. 

No. He couldn't go around thinking that stuff, he couldn't. There wasn't anything to be free from on Earth, there wasn't anything to run or hide from. The Morty who thought there was had been removed, and now Morty - the  _real, healthy_ Morty - could live peacefully. He didn't need the stars, or nebulae, or swirling storms of gas and rubble to feel alive. He only needed himself.

"Hey, kids," Morty would have started, but Rick's voice was so calm and relaxed that he only turned, interested, "sorry to interrupt but - but, Morty, can I talk to you outside for a moment?"

Morty had a really bad feeling about going, but he wasn't going to be rude with no just cause.

He wasn't his mother, or his father, or the rest of the world.

He wasn't _toxic_.

 

* * *

 

Morty was curled up on the floor, trying so hard not to cry, because Rick said he was getting sick of hearing it and he didn't want to upset Rick anymore than he already had. Rick had punished him, the last time he hadn't shut up. That's what it was, that's why he-

Rick shot him a glare, and he plastered himself even further against the wall, like it would make him invisible. It worked, a little. Rick went back to his work, and Morty went back to shivering.

He forced down the wail that was building in his chest, and dug his nails into his face. Parts of his skin tore away when he moved only to fall back into place like it had neverr happened. He didn't like this at all, and he could still feel where Rick's hands had made deep imprints, on his arms, his chest, his thighs...

He tried to think of something else, anything else, but his mind was stuck and it wasn't listening to him. More of his flesh was torn away only to move back into place in a decidedly unnatural and disgusting way, but it wasn't enough to satisfy the dark part of him that wanted nothing more to keep hurting, if only so Rick wouldn't have to take the job upon himself. 

It was better than focusing on his mind ripping him apart from the inside out. At least he could control what his hands did, even if it was just twisting and turning his skin - he missed being normal, hated how it fell to pieces between his fingers instead of staying and hurting longer. He must have done something wrong again, though, because Rick cursed and stormed over.

"J-just shut up, Muh-Morty," Rick sneered, leaning to tower over him like he didn't know how monstrous and powerful he looked, "M-my dumbass healthy self will fall for the obvious lie, a-and we'll be out of here soon, you worthless little shit."

He hadn't made a sound, he was sure of it - but Rick was a genius, and Morty was a worthless parasite that made Rick keep him around. Who should he believe? His stupid, lying brain, or Rick, the man who was going to save them from this scary world of monsters and demons? Was Rick trying to get him to do the wrong thing again? He didn't want to argue, but what if Rick wanted him to argue, and he didn't, but Rick wanted him to because he wanted to get Morty in trouble?

He was doing the wrong thing both ways, but there was no right answer. If Rick wanted to hurt him, he probably wouldn't wait for an excuse. But if he wanted to play the long game like he did sometimes, he might, and he might try and hurt Morty into doing it if he didn't.

He didn't realise he was making a low, keening noise as his hands clawed at his ears. What was the right answer? He didn't want to hurt anymore, but he didn't get to decide that. Rick got to decide that. 

He just didn't know Rick's decision, and it made his head want to burst because it was all so fucked. He was so stupid, and he just didn't understand what Rick wanted from him, which was also going to make Rick mad. 

"I said t-to _shut_   _up,_ M-Morty," Rick didn't crouch to meet Morty's gaze. He grabbed Morty's chin, pulling him up by his jaw alone, until his hand was almost enveloped by the goopy parts of Morty's face. "D-don't you dare - don't look away."

Morty tried to match his stare, tried to be who Rick wanted him to be, tried to look like whatever Rick wanted to see, but he couldn't do it.

Rick looked insane, and Morty didn't want to see what his own reflection looked like in the black of Rick's eye. Disgusting. Ugly. Pathetic.  _Toxic._

Because that's what he was. He was toxic. He was a burden on his family, a little stray dog for Rick, and a blight against humanity - he was awful, and he didn't know why he had never seen it so clearly before. The normal parts of him probably blinded him from seeing what lay underneath, from seeing the droopy, disgusting mess he really was. He was removed to make life better for himself and he hated that it probably worked.

There was something missing from him and there was nothing to fill him and make him feel whole again.

"I-I'm soh-sorry," he closed his eyes, and tried to pretend that Rick was someone else, tried to pretend that Rick loved him, even though it hurt -  _it hurt so bad, Mommy, please help, please help me, I don't want it -_ but he knew no-one would ever love him.

This was all he was good for.

 

* * *

 

Morty wasn't upset.

He was concerned. He was a little annoyed. Most of all, he was worried that Rick would do something unhealthy.

He didn't want Rick to do anything drastic - like try to rescue their toxic parts like some kind of white knight. His skin crawled at the thought of having that thing back inside him, at the thought of ruining everything good that had happened recently. He let the now familiar calm wash over him, like waves against a beach shore, settling whatever parts of him that were anything but the confident, collected person he was now.

After the admittedly awful date with Jessica (no doubt gone wrong because of his nervousness over their apparently sentient toxic selves), he met Stacy, and brought her home. She was into it - Morty had found he was very, very good at convincing people they wanted things, and she wanted him like a woman posessed. His Mom was happy he was bringing more  _friends_ home, and his Dad was irationally proud that he was, "Acting more like I did at his age!"

He was finally comfortable, and ready for a good night when Rick had to go and prove his worries weren't unfounded.

"Morty, great news," Rick looked  _excited._ Pleased with himself, like the cat that caught the canary. It was the first time since they detoxed that Morty had seen him like that, and he felt a slight pang of regret that being healthy changed so much of Rick until he was unrecognisable. "I went back to the spa and they let me purchase the containment unit from their detoxifier!"

But he had heard his toxic self speak, seen _it's_ face, and he wasn't ready to let  _it_ back inside of him. He didn't want to go back to how it was before, he didn't want to keep feeling that blocked off emotion, he didn't want to go back to being afraid. He didn't want Rick to go back to...

He pushed that aside. He didn't need to think about it anymore! He didn't need to worry about Rick doing that anymore! They were healthy, Rick was healthy, and healthy meant safe. Healthy meant that Rick didn't crawl into his bed at three in the morning, healthy meant that there weren't Rick-shaped bruises on his stomach, his back, his thighs. He didn't want toxic Rick back, and he didn't want the kind of Morty that let Rick do things to him.

"Why?" Why? Why did Rick want to go back so desperately, why couldn't he understand where Morty was coming from? Did he just not care?

He didn't want it, and Rick still didn't get it. 

Even after the detox, even after everything, Rick still didn't get it.

He distantly heard the toxic versions of themselves talk. He saw his own face, he saw the way it looked, and the same disgust he had felt for weeks drowned him. That was him. That was meant to go back inside him?

No. No. Morty was fine without it, he was flourishing! Rick was flourishing, even if he seemed more withdrawn - but Rick was always too out there, being more withdrawn was a good thing.

Why couldn't he see that?

"Should I go?" Stacy helped him center himself. Another person, asking for his help, asking what to do because he was healthy.

_He was healthy._

"You're your own person, Stacy."

"Then I'd like to stay."

He was a good person. He was a good person, and he wasn't going to go back. Rick couldn't make him.

Could he?

"Rick, please tell me you're not trying to put that stuff back inside of us." He needed to leave, but maybe Rick was kidding? Maybe he was going to kill them, maybe he was going to make it so they never existed in the first place. 

But Honest Rick didn't do jokes. He didn't murder things. Morty started to wonder whether the detoxifier really worked on him at all, because his mind was screaming the same thing,  _'Kill the, kill them, kill them, kill them-'_ over and over, and he didn't think he would feel bad. They didn't deserve to ruin the life Morty had built, and Healthy Morty - the deserving Morty - got what he wanted.

"Morty, I’m sorry," Rick said, looking so gentle that Morty wanted to slap the expression right off his face, "that stuff is alive and it belongs with us. We yanked them from their homes and locked them in a _can_."

Good! It was good riddance, and they could stay in that can forever because Morty wasn't letting that shit back inside of him. Toxic Rick swore, banging against the camera that was recording them. He heard himself blubbering.

_"I-I'm so ugly, everybody hates me!"_

_"Y-you all hate me, oh my God I want to die, oh my God."_

Rick pulled his focus away.

"I need you t-to step in the booth, Morty," Rick said, still confident that he was right and he got to make decisions for Morty.

"Don't negotiate with that - with that little turd, dummy!" Toxic Rick shouted, face up close to the screen, "You're the Rick! You - you need to show  _dominance."_

Morty wasn't an animal, he wasn't stupid, he didn't deserve this. Maybe he was only half of a real person, but he was the good half. It was like the movies with the twins - one good twin, one bad. Everyone chose the good twin, and she got to prove herself. Why couldn't Morty prove that he was better like this? Without the toxic part of himself to drag him back, and steal what he had?

"Morty. Booth, now."

Morty. Wasn't. A. Dog.

He wasn't something to be called to heel, he wasn't Rick's plaything anymore! He was his own person, and he didn't want this. 

"Booth. Come on, Morty!"

No.

"D-do the healthy thing and voluntarily retoxify yourself." 

But it wasn't healthy, it was anything but healthy. It was disgusting, and gross, and Toxic Rick wanted to hurt him - he could see it in his eyes, see it in the way Toxic Morty -  _him -_ quivered at his side. Why did Rick want that back inside of him? He needed to leave. He needed to get out, but Rick dragged him by the arm, and he was trapped. He was trapped, and he was going to be disgusting again.

There was no amount of showers that would wash away the wasting, dripping mess of his own personality, his own soul, and he didn't want to have to claw at his skin to rip it out of him again. He couldn't live with his monsters, the most disgusting parts of himself, back again. He  _couldn't._

Rick grabbed him and he gasped, a loud inhale that didn't get him enough air. "Don't touch me!"

"Is it weird that I find this kind of hot?"

Stacy! Stacy would help him - a few drinks and pickup lines had her eating out of the palm of his hand, and she wasn't smart enough to question what he decided. She was a follower, just like the toxic part of him.

He hit the glass screen, vomit crawling up his throat as his fate flashed closer and closer, green blurring with yellow, whole and not whole. "Let me out of here! Stacy, help! Open the door!"

"I need to hear our safeword, Morty." 

He wanted to scream, wanted to rip her hair from her scalp, but there wasn't time. "Sea cucumber! Sea cucumber!" There wasn't time to be embarrassed because it  _worked,_ and he was out, out even as Rick yelled and the booth lit up, brighter and brighter. Rick was yelling, and Stacy was yelling, and he was pretty sure he was too. Puffs of a poisonous green gas were realeased, filling up the tank.

Morty stared, half horrified and half fascinated - would Stacy merge with them, like a cronenburg situation? Morty would be forced to kill them then. For the good of humanity, and all that.

But no; the smoke cleared, and Stacy was gone. But  _they_ were there, the Rick talking loudly and rubbing at his eyes, the Morty...

Looking like a Morty. Scared, cowering at the new situation, looking to his Rick with wide eyes.

Morty couldn't hear the words, couldn't hear them through the slimy green filling him up, dripping down into his brain and paving the cracks life left, like bubblegum to a shoe. Time moved faster again when Toxic Rick threw a punch, his own Rick stumbling back - and Morty had been right, they were out to get them - like a toddler learning to walk. "Kill him, Rick!" He shouted, eyes trapped on himself as blood fell, staining the cement floor.

He looked terrified. 

A smile tugged at his lips in bitter amusement, finally having the upper-hand on himself. He was in control, and he had so much anger built up...

Red filled his vision, this time, the world as crimson as the blood still dripping from Rick's nose.

 

* * *

 

Morty was so scared, and everyone was yelling and fighting, and so, so  _angry._

He flinched as Rick took another swing, attacking his healthy doppelganger in a way that made Morty want to throw up - should he help? But he didn't want to hurt Rick, no matter which one it was. He needed direction, desperately, but there was no-one to provide it so he stayed crouched in the corner of the huge, scary tank-thing, half-hiding his face behind his hands.

He - the healthy, normal him  _that had a better life with him gone, he deserved to die_ was staring at him, breaking eye-contact only to egg his Rick on. 

The fight moved outside, leaving Morty more alone than he had been in such a long time. It was daunting and awful, and he wasn't sure what he could do to help. He stood, on shaky fawn legs, and creeped out of the booth, eyes darting around until they landed on the spaceship.

_'Not 'was', motherfucker. Still is.'_

Rick would need the tank to trap them in the toxic world, right? That was what he had said before, when he was sketching it out and yelling angrily at scraps of metal that he had somehow worked into a phone. And, maybe he could use the ship to carry it - he wouldn't be able to carry it with strength alone, he was so, so weak with his noodle arms and useless, breakable spine.

Rick kept the keys in the dashboard, in a little compartment that Morty's fingerprints were keyed to (but would it even work, with his current state? He didn't want to be shot by Rick's defence mechanisms, that hurt so _bad_ ). After several moments of deliberation, it was the smashing of glass that forced him into action, his hands trembling as the spaceship door swung open, fight or flight keeping him trapped like a deer in headlights.

He was on edge, ready for danger, but he was too anxious to move. He let out a small whimper of relief when the fingerprint scanner beeped, flashing green and letting him scramble for the keys. He allowed himself a quick rest - hands clenched tight around the steering wheel, head resting between them against the old, worn metal. He breathed.

Rick wasn't there, which was a torment and a blessing.

More yelling came from the house, and he shoved the key into the ignition, twisting it sharply. He pressed down on the accelerator, his own safety thrown out of the window as he rammed into the booth, hard. He screamed as he did it, loud and shrill, but he still did it! He still managed to knock it from it's fastened place on the floor, cringing at the sound of metal on Rick's special, unbreakable glass.

He jumped out, wringing his hands as he considered what to do next - what step to take first? Did he leave the booth and go save Rick right away? Did he tie the booth to the ship? DId he give up, because he was never going to be able to get it to work?

But the extra weight would be dangerous - it would, surely, but how else was he to transport it? His hands were playing with his hair, tugging at the longer sides, twisting the curls around and around and  _around-_

He would tie it down. Then they wouldn't have to go back. Hopefully Rick wouldn't be mad at him, hopefully he wouldn't punish him again. He didn't want to be the reason Rick hurt him, ever, but he was so bad at being good that what he wanted never mattered. He didn't matter, nothing mattered, but he still got the tank, and his hands were barely shaking while he unwound the rope and broke off bits of duct tape.

The screams were getting too loud and drowning him, and he just needed them to shut up for one minte, so he could hear what he needed to do - but the voices only got louder and louder, until he wasn't sure whether or not he was thinking at all. All that was running through his mind was  _Rick, Rick, Rick,_ the cause of all this, the reason he was still alive at all.

He meant to park on the back lawn, meant to do this with as minimal fuss as possible; but his hands didn't listen to him, jerking erratically, mind racing with thoughts of punishment and pain, and all he really wanted was somewhere to lie down and _die like the animal he was_ because he was hurting. He was always hurting.

Instead, he crashed through the ceiling, which wasn't the  _wrong_ thing to do. But Rick always looked so angry, so he didn't know if it was the  _right_ thing. It broke through the violence, though, pulling their attention to him in a way that made him want to claw at his face and curl up in a ball. Instead, he bowed his shoulders and ducked his head, hands still clasped against the wheel. 

"I got the tank!" He said, voice shaky and small. "I-I'm a piece of shit, but I got the tank!"

Rick snapped his head to look back at his healthy self, forehead creased and mouth open in an expression Morty knew intimately well.

"You’re gonna live in that toxic fucking wasteland, like I had to do!" He jabbed a finger, bare back - when had that happened, what was going on? - tense. "That’s right, motherfucker, you’re going in that fucking-"

Morty shrieked, hands flying up, still holding the steering wheel, when he attacked himself, and  _god, that was a mindfuck that would haunt him for the rest of his life._ He hurt, from the kicking and the biting and the punching, and he didn't know what he had done to deserve it. What had he done, what had he ever done aside from being born? The ship tore through ceiling plaster and wood as the other Morty’s fingers tore through green flesh.

"Dad...s?" It was Mom who stopped everything, really and truly stopped it, with a confused, soft presence that got results Morty wouldn't be able to get in his lifetime. He stared at her, eyes filling wih tears for at least the fifth time that day.

"J-just leave her out of this," the healthy Rick said, looking tired and old, exactly how Morty wasn't used to seeing him. 

"What's going on?"

The healthy Rick opened his mouth as though to answer her, but Rick, his Rick, scoffed and turned away like he couldn't be less bothered with the turn of events - but, Morty knew Rick. He was stupid and probably imagining it, but Rick's mouth was set in a harsh line and his eyes were narrowed slightly, like he was trying to fight off an annoyed tick, and was only half succeeding.

"Alright, fuck this." Rick climbed up onto the ship, "time for Plan B. If I can’t trap you in a toxic world, I’ll just make the whole world toxic!" In only a few short seconds, he was grabbing the better version of Morty and tossing him away like he was nothing. Morty shuddered from his new position in the passenger seat, angling his body away like it would stop Rick if he tried to do something.

He fought the urge to cry again when the jolt of hitting the ceiling ran through his body, and chunks of debris rained down on the windscreen.

Rick ignored his snivelling, seething and plotting in the comfort of his own mind. Morty turned away.

 

* * *

 

"It’s okay, girls." Rick said, comforting and calm and almost completely unbothered. "I-I’m so sorry I put us in danger with some of my behavior. I-If you’d like I can go out in the g-garden, pick some fresh basil, and make us a niceee Scallopini."

No-one bought it. Morty picked himself up from the floor, 

Morty could see the urge in his mother's eyes, to fold and soften to her father's whims, but curiosity won out. Rick had been sweeter to her, since the spa, and she was getting comfortable with their new dynamic. Healthy Rick didn't run away, or lie, or do anything that made Mom upset. He was the father she had always dreamed of, and, if Rick sought out their toxic selves, would never see again.

"Dad, what did the booger version of you mean, when he said he was going to make the whole world toxic?"

Morty admired his mother's ability to focus on the important details - and, he wouldn't lie, he was extremely curious to know himself. He had some inkling, but Rick was always unpredictable.  _Especially_ without his, well, good parts to keep him somewhat grounded.

"Believe me, sweetie, that man’s motivations are a  _mystery._ " 

Bullshit. Bull. Shit. Morty didn't know whether or not Rick felt like he did, seeing his memories in a new light, disgusted by his own self, but he suspected that he didn't. Otherwise he would understand what Morty was going through. Either that, or even a detox couldn't make Rick care about anyone but himself.

"Screw that, Rick," he was trembling as he spoke, voice whiny and high, eyebrows low and furrowed, "we gotta stop them - what's the last thing you'd think about doing with that tank?" His hands moved against his will, gesturing widely for emphasis - he supposed it was better. It soothed the burning itch that wanted to  _hurt, hurt, hurt_ and he let himself relax.

Rick would know what to do. He always did.

But he knelt down. He put an old, wrinkled hand on Morty's shoulder, looking at him with innocence and amusement that didn't belong plastered to his face. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Morty," he said, "but it's not our place, you know? To pick and choose which world gets saved from what apocalypse. Our toxins have as much a right to their worldview as-"

Morty slapped him.

It felt so much better than just moving his hands, it felt so much better than scowling and yelling. It felt  _good._ He felt good. 

It was good that Rick didn't feel good. It was good that Morty was string enough to make his head swing to the side, mouth parted slightly in shock and  ~~hopefully~~ pain.

"Morty, how is it healthy to slap me?" Morty was obviously a hell of a lot smarter than this new Rick, than the Healthy Rick, because it was so  _obvious._ Hurting people was good, it was healthy! It's how Rick displayed dominance, how he showed people who was boss. Pushing Morty down the stairs or abandoning him to alien experimentation was the norm. Rick hurt people, Rick hurt him above all others.'

How could he stand there and act like he was any better, or healthier, or smarter than Morty?

"Obviously my version of health is a hell of a lot different to yours, you - you useless old turd!"

Morty couldn't say he hated anyone. But in that moment, with anger and disgust creeping through his veins, with the hollow happiness tickling at his brain like it was going to replace all his feelings for one that didn't matter, he disliked Rick.

A lot.

Not even just for who he was - but for how he made Morty feel, what he made Morty do, what Morty was reduced to around him. He was more than Rick, of course he was. But Rick was too healthy to see that.

"Wait, that's it," Rick said, eyes alight with a knowing gleam. Morty calmed, willing to listen now that Rick was saying something that mattered, "How could that detox machine know the difference between healthy and sick for everything that goes through it? It can’t. It must be by the own individuals  _definition_ of toxicity. That means..."

Morty stared up at Rick, willing him to just explain the destination, and not just the route his mind was taking to get there. He didn't see the slap coming. Rick's face never shifted, no tick or tell warning him like it had every time before, when he was unhealthy. When they were unhealthy.

"Dad!"

"W-what the hell, Rick?"

He wasn't expecting to be hit back, especially after Rick scolded him for it not being healthy. It seemed the detox hadn't robbed Rick of how hypocritical he could be, either. Was Morty surprised? Really? He couldn't be sure, with the whirlwind of emotion and logic that ravaged any action he could have taken before he could think of it.

"I'll explain on the way," Rick grabbed Morty's arm and instinct had him falling in line.

 

* * *

 

Morty didn't really want Rick to make the world toxic.

It made him feel nauseous, stupid, headachey. He felt awful, and he deserved it - he knew that! He wasn't trying to be ungrateful, or selfish - but he didn't think all the others did. He didn't know why he couldn't get it through his thick skull, that it wasn't up to him. That he didn't get to think unless Rick said it was okay, that he didn't get an opinion until Rick said it was okay. 

It wasn't a hard concept, but he struggled still. 

Rick flipped the switch and a ripple of  _something_ made Morty shiver, his eyesight adjusting quickly to the darkened world. It reminded him of being underwater, with seaweed and dull fish, the sunlight not reaching as far as Morty could swim. He thought of when Rick had taken him diving for pearls. Morty had been left to do the actual diving, of course, but the things he saw were so beautiful...

But now, his mind was fogged and all he could see flashing across his mind were sharp teeth and the unknown lurking behind plants. He could have died, and would Rick have cared? Morty didn't think so.

"Put your fucking hands in the air," Rick grabbed his arm, painfully wrenching it up until Morty had to stand on his tiptoes to ease the stretch. "Yeah, you little piece of shit!"

Rick had done it, and Morty was so glad - mybe, now, they could find somewhere safe to hide so no-one would be able to see Morty's face, and no-one would be able to hear him talk. Ever again. He hesitated, trying to decide whether bringing it up would be safe, when their healthy counterparts made an appearance. The Morty was apathetic. His mouth was a straight line, his eyes dead and dark. Morty held in a whimper.

The Rick looked like he was better than everyone else. Morty didn't know how he did it, but he felt the urge to cave in to whatever he wanted, and hide from whatever tools he had to prove his superiority.

"Remember me?" Healthy Rick smirked, eyes shining with a secret Morty wasn't anxious to find out about. Morty's Rick tensed, his relatively good mood dissipating to join the heavy green fog in the air.

"Didn’t you learn last time that you can’t beat me?" Oh, Rick was rising to the challenge, stepping forward and jutting his chest out. Morty didn't expect differently but he didn't want another fight. He didn't want Rick to use him as a shield, or the other Morty to hurt him again. He wasn't sure if the other Rick would hurt him, but he could only assume so - the others did, and they were almost the same.

"Yeah, I did." The Rick said, still sounding so pleased. Morty cowered. "Then I learned something else."

Rick's mouth opened, probably to goad the Rick into revealing whatever secret plan he had up his sleeve, but Morty didn't hear what was said after that because his knee was on fire.

The bone had shattered, Morty could feel the bone fragments moving as he tried desperately to staunch the bleeding. Thick, dark green liquid oozed out despite his efforts, staining his fingers, making him hyperventilate. He knew it! He knew he couldn't trust the Rick, he knew he would be hurt, he knew he should have just thrown himself off the tower while he had the chance.

He was scared of dying and scared of living, and there was nowhere else for him to go. He distantly heard screams coming from his own mouth, could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks, but all that mattered was that he hurt.

_"That bullet is laced with an encrypted nanobotic virus that will disintegrate your Morty in about, say, twenty minutes."_

Morty didn't want to die, he didn't want to die, he didn't want to die. He didn't want to bleed out or disintegrate, or anything else. WHy couldn't he just be safe, why did everyone hate him so much that he had to suffer over and over again?

Rick was yelling at them. The other Rick wanted them to merge, but Rick would never do that. Not for a Morty, not for him, not for anyone, because Rick didn't love anyone. He didn't care about anyone, he couldn't love anyone. The other Rick had to know that, so why was he killing Morty?

He didn't hear Rick's reponse, because his other knee was shot.

_"...Ten minutes."_

"It hurts," he sobbed, clutching at both of his knees, "please, it hurts so bad."

Time was moving slower, the words spoken reaching Morty in fragments that didn't make sense until Rick was dropping to his knees as well, pulling Morty into him like he cared. Morty would have pulled away, but he couldn't handle being punished again for not letting Rick do what he wanted, he couldn't take it. He couldn't, but no-one cared what he could or couldn't do.

He only winced when a third bullet cut into his arm, clattering to the floor somewhere behind him. He didn't have enough hands to 

"Morty, not that I give a shit, but are you okay?" Rick's face swam in front of him, in and out of focus, blurry with the tears slipping out of Morty's eyes. He cried even harder. Rick was trying to trick him, why was Rick trying to trick him?

"It hurts," Morty breathed, his forehead scrunching up as the virus swept through his bloodstream, giving a whole new meaning to the word  _fire._ "Jesus Christ, it  _hurts_."

"Quit your bitching," Rick said, sharp. Morty would have given a sigh of relief if he wasn't dying -  _he was dying, dying and it hurt so fucking bad -_ because at least he knew how Rick still saw him. Until Rick went soft, "You're gonna be fine. G-grandpa's here."

It didn't feel good. He didn't like being unsure, he didn't like people changing, he didn't like people lying to him. He just wanted everyone to leave him alone so he could die by himself, with no-one making fun of him like this, with no-one there to witness how his face crumpled when he was scared, or hurt. So he could be safe, at last, even if he would hate every second of it. But it made his wounds sting a little bit less, that Rick was saying a nice lie just for him.

Rick had meant safety and hurt but now he was dying, and he hated that he had trusted anyone at all.

He couldn't trust his own, stupid fucking brain, he couldn't trust Rick - there was no-one for him. Not anymore. But still. "R-rick?" He was so, so tired, but he wanted Rick to be nice to him again. Just a little bit, just to see if it really felt good, because his brain was pulling it apart so much that he couldn't know.

He didn't know anything.

And he was dying.

_"You poor, dumb, sick animal."_

 

* * *

 

 

Morty thought he'd feel more, seeing himself dying. In pain, in absolute agony as the virus took over every coherent thought, burning everything down to animal instinct, as organs failed and cells were destroyed.

Instead, he felt nothing.

No happiness, no anger, no sadness, not even the glee he had felt sparks of before. He felt nothing for the twisted creature in front of him, and he felt nothing over the panicked Rick. Maybe disgust, maybe curiosity - what made the toxic version of Rick care? His own didn't, but he had assumed it was a malfunction. Rick hadn't been very clear on their way there - shouting, laughing,  _"That bastard really is sick, Morty!_ _"_

But he hadn't known how sick he was until the green version of him was lying limp in his own Rick's arms, and memories started flooding back. How often had he been in that position? 

He shook himself, the all-too familiar disgust curling at the back of his throat once more. Why was this all he was left with? Disgust, nothing, the hollow happiness... What more did he have? What more was removed?

He watched on as the Rick's merged, only breaking free from his own mind when he realised what would happen next. It was his turn, to be reduced to the weak, helpless plaything he had always been. Always would be, if Rick got his way. He couldn't deal with it - he was so clean and Morty, the other Morty, he was so dirty. He didn't know when he became obsessed with cleanliness, but he suspected it had something to do with Rick's arrival.

Everything did, in one way or another. 

He had a plan before his brain had caught up, still staring at the thing on the floor.

"I’m back, baby! Regular Rick! Master of both worlds! Check it it out!" Morty wrinkled his nose. " _Excuse_ me.Now we’ll just reverse this hacky toxicity beam, man, I really over think shit when I’m angry."

He flipped the switch and the air was easier to breathe, Morty could inhale without wanting to choke. 

"Alright, Morty, time to re-merge your little ass-"

Morty had heard enough, his half-baked plan springing to action before he could be convinced to stay. "You're a better man than me, Rick, I'm healthy enough to admit that!" It was probably true. It was probably better, _safer_ for the world if they merged. But Morty was so sick of being selfless, so sick of being told what to do, so sick of having to sacrifice everything to the the boy Rick wanted him to be. 

He could be selfish, just this once.

Rick had always been a better man than Morty, but Morty would be greater. He could be, now, with no-one holding him back, and the sky cool against the warmth in his cheeks. Anger, embarrassment, shame - he didn't know if he could feel any of them, and that was fine, as long as he was away. For good. He could figure the rest of it out later, but for now all he needed was himself.

 

*

 

Being a stock-broker was interesting. 

It wasn't hard work, but it was fun to see how smart he could be, how he could be brilliant with only himself to rely on. It wasn't Rick-Smart, but it wasn't Morty-Stupid either, and it was a relief. A relief to know that he wasn't really retarded, or disabled, or anything else anyone had ever said about him - he was smart, he was a good talker, he was the perfect little poster-boy.

He was tired.

He had traded one cage for another, Rick's expectations for a company that told him what to do and when to do it. 

It wasn't bad - it was healthier, safer, better than any other option - but there were times where he looked to the sky for the stars to give him the answer to a puzzle he wasn't sure made sense.

On one hand, he was still clean. His apartment glittered from daily scrubbing, his suits always washed and pressed. The people he worked with were always put together, not a hair out of place, or a sentence said that wasn't thought over a million times. It was efficient and he almost worked for himself.

_So why wasn't he satisfied?_

He thought he would be free, but he was on  _Earth._ Nothing came free, nothing came cheap, and he hated that he couldn't just up and leave like he had left Rick. He'd left his whole life behind for freedom that was beyond him, for a sense of meaning that he couldn't find in stacks of paper and organised files. Would it really have been so bad to go back, and merge? He would be less clean, he would hate himself for not taking the chance in a lifetime to get away...

But in space, everything fell apart and nothing mattered until a bomb blew up or Rick did something stupid, and they were running, and running, and _running_. Running from everything the universe had to throw at them, running from their mistakes-

_The Cronenburged world, the Vindicators, Earth_

-and hiding from the memories of lives lost and worlds burned. What was left of him, what wasn't a mistake? A toxin? He felt dissatisfied. He felt clean. He felt hollow. He felt exhausted. Everything else was a mystery, a jumbled mess that he couldn't untangle no matter how hard he tugged and pulled.

Going home was the best part of his day. He could shed his suit and tie, his facade of sorts, for (still uncomfortably new and clean) jeans and a t-shirt. He could be almost like the Morty he had been before their toxic selves had figured out how to contact them. People still needed him, he still helped people, but this time he was going to crash and burn, he could feel it in his bones.

With lack of anything better to do, he pulled out a chopping board and started cutting carrots.

_Chop_

Was there anything he could do?

_Chop_

What would happen if he could do something?

_Chop_

His head spun with the sudden apathy, the emptiness that crept up on him, confusion deserting him. He tried to grab for it, to hold it tight.

_Chop_

It slipped through metaphorical fingers, and he felt his movements becoming slowed, his mouth falling to a bored line.

_Chop_

He tasted some. "Mm, is this organic?" Emotion clouded his voice, overcompensating for the lack of it clouding his mind - he wondered if Jacqueline heard him from the bedroom, but he realised that he didn't _care_. Why should he? There was nothing she could do or say to change who he was deep at his core, even if her voice was soft and soothing and she was sweet to him.

His phone rang.

"Go for Morty!" His lips curled into a smile that the person on the other end of the line couldn't see.

He could have spared a moment to wonder who in the world could possibly have gotten his private number - but, maybe, he just  _didn't care._

"Hey, Morty," the smile slid off his lips like water off a duck's back, "it's Jessica. Can we - can we just talk for a minute?"

 

* * *

 

 

Later, curled alone in his bed, Morty cried.

He cried, and cried, and cried, fingers burning the skin where it tried to dry the tears from his skin. He felt so unbearably itchy, flayed open and raw for the world to see. He tugged at his fingers until his knuckles  _cracked,_ the bones popping until he felt they were going to fall apart. Merging hurt, it hurt even hours after. The intense, biting pain of his mind and body warring each other had simmered down.

Instead of the pain that had him rolling and screaming on the floor, it felt like buzzing mosquitos were crawling around under his flesh. 

Even then, his mind was reeling. He could  _feel._

He could feel sadness and he could feel happiness, he could feel shame and he could feel guilt. He could feel everything at once, and it was as beautiful as it was overwhelming. Now, with the memories of two people - because they weren't the same, no matter the physical characteristics they shared - he could think, properly. 

He had always known Rick had some kind of connection to him, feelings for him. Even before Rick let him know the truth, it had been a fact.

Rick loved him. That's why he- he- he-

But he never imagined it would be something Rick _hated_ , or viewed as toxic. Rick loved Morty, probably more than anyone else in the world did and he thought that was _disgusting._ He would rather not love Morty, and Morty should have been grateful - grateful that Rick didn't want to hurt him, but he needed that love. Even if that love meant Rick crawling into his bed and trailing fingers up his spine, pressing kisses against the shell of his ear.

He remembered the green world, dark and sticky. He remembered his gut churning and he remembered  _Rick._ He remembered it hurting worse than anything had ever hurt him in his life, and he remembered Rick acting so gentle before, like it was all he knew to do. He had hated it, hated how Rick lied to him to get what he wanted, but now he wanted nothing more than a sweet lie to soothe the beast awoken inside his body.

Morty Smith, a victim of the cold, cruel, uncaring, unfeeling universe.

Morty Smith, a victor in the cold, cruel, uncaring, unfeeling universe.

Morty Smith, healthy and toxic and ugly and beautiful and everything rolled into one package adressed to  _Rick Sanchez._

He grabbed his ankles as his door opened, his clock glowing with green numbers that jumbled and mixed together. He tightened his grip as the alien, the monster, the  _Rick_ moved even closer, two parts making up a whole like Morty. He was like Morty, he _understood._

He understood, and he cried even harder. Rick muttered under his breath, threats and compliments slurring together, a beautiful mess that only Morty was privy to. In the comfort of his own bedroom, in the dark, sobbing and shaking, he let Rick have him like he let him find him again.

Rick's touch calmed the buzzing in his body, and he let Rick take and take and take and take, in hopes he would keep the parts of Morty that let him be the way he was. He was weak, he was strong, and he was Rick's.

In health and sickness.

**Author's Note:**

> surprise me with a kudos or comment <3
> 
> i hope the length somewhat made up for whatever it maybe lacks, and i'm sorry for any mistakes - my editing was not my best with this fic.
> 
> click [HERE](https://xbloodrunsredx.tumblr.com/) for my tumblr!


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